


Reporting for Duty

by cynicalkairos



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: ;), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Head Detective Shawn Spencer, M/M, Major canon divergence, POV Shawn Spencer, Shawn and Juliet are just friends :), Slow Burn, Villain Carlton Lassiter, also, he's not a psychic in this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28691874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynicalkairos/pseuds/cynicalkairos
Summary: AU: Shawn is the Head Detective for the Santa Barbara Police DepartmentAfter tracking down the notorious killer the Lone Ranger for three years, Shawn had enough. This little game of cat and mouse they played was over. There was no more dilly-dallying. The head detective was going to put on his big boy pants and solve this murder.See what happens in this thrilling adventure of murder, shenanigans, and... enemies-to-lovers trope?
Relationships: Burton "Gus" Guster & Shawn Spencer, Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer, Juliet O'Hara & Shawn Spencer
Comments: 16
Kudos: 20





	1. The Lone Ranger Rolls Back Into Town

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy!
> 
> If this had any resemblance to the timeline of the show, this takes place sometime around Season 5 for your imaginations. :)
> 
> TW: talk of violence and murder as one would expect with a fanfiction about a crime show, talk of prior injuries concerning gunshot wounds, and talk of alcohol use.  
> I will update these warnings every chapter just to let you know.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this concoction of sleep deprivation, boredom, and procrastination. I know that I sure as hell do.

“You know that dolphins are bigger than whales?”

Juliet looked over at Shawn with an astonished face, her eyes wide and her jaw dropped. “Shawn, that cannot be true!”

“Ah, but, it is,” he said, shifting in his chair that sat conveniently next to her desk at the police station. 

The junior detective put down her Chinese takeout container and wagged her finger. “No, no, whales are huge compared to dolphins.”

Well, the blue whale, the sperm whale, and possibly every other whale might be, but do you know which isn’t?”

“Okay, which isn’t?”

Shawn could barely contain his laughter, before saying, “Your mom.”

Juliet just blinked for a second and then cocked her head to the side in confusion. “Did you just fail at making a ‘your mom’ joke to me?”

All of the laughter that ensued from Shawn’s end after he told the joke ceased and his mouth closed abruptly. “Yes, yes, I believe I did. You bested me. Oh whale.”

The junior detective’s face contorted into anger and then, trying to hold back her smile and her laughter, she shook her head. “You are terrible.”

“I know, I know, it’s one of my—”

“Spencer! O’Hara! We got a case,” Chief Vick called to the duo as she stormed into her office, signalling them to follow. “And it’s a bad one.”

Head Detective Shawn Spencer looked over at his partner Junior Detective Juliet O’Hara with a raised eyebrow before getting up from his desk and following her into her office, Juliet not too far behind. 

Shawn couldn’t tell you how he managed to get where he was today. 

He figured it was the moment he was sitting in the driver’s seat of the vehicle he’d stolen back in ‘95. 

_With his hands clasping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, Shawn knew he had two choices._

_One: steal the vehicle, get arrested by his father, and never see the inside of a police station after that._

_And two: get out of the vehicle, suck it up, and admit that, somewhere deep inside, he wanted to be the cop that his father never could have been._

_“So,” Shawn remembered his current girlfriend at the time saying beside him, her fingers trailing up his arm and shoulder and landing on the back of his neck. “Are we gonna do this thing or are we just gonna sit here all night?”_

_For some reason, then eighteen-year-old Shawn shook his head. “Get out of the car. My dad will be here any minute.”_

_“What?”_

_He turned to her, a surprisingly serious look on his face. “Do you want to get arrested or not?”_

_“You’re worried about the law?” She scoffed and retracted her hand immediately. “That’s cute, but I’m not afraid of a pair of handcuffs.”_

_Shawn then leaned back in the seat and rolled his eyes, unbuckling the seatbelt and starting to get out of the car still parked in his neighbor’s driveway. “I’m not doing this. This is over. We’re over.”_

_He tossed her the keys he stole earlier that day and left both the car and her, stomping up to the house and starting to pack his bags._

That was the night Shawn decided that he needed some air and space that Santa Barbara wasn’t going to provide for him and, if you told him then that he would not only come back to Santa Barbara, but join the police academy, eighteen-year-old Shawn would not have believed you.

Now, waltzing in the Chief of Police’s office as the Head Detective for the Santa Barbara Police Department, he still wouldn’t have believed you. He probably thought it was some sort of a dream.

“Okay, Chief, what do we got? Serial killer? Arsonist? Serial killer arsonist that dabbles as a clown as his side gig?” Shawn asked persistently, while sitting down and lounging in one of the chairs in front of her desk. 

The chief pursed her lips, trying to hide her fond amusement at his antics and stay professional at the same time. “No, I hate to tell you, but the Lone Ranger is back and he came for blood.”

The serial killer, penned the Lone Ranger by the media after the recognized his vigilante streak and his Wild West styling of murder, had been active for the past three years, rotating in and out of dormancy for the brunt of it. 

This guy was the only one Shawn couldn’t catch. Despite his better judgment, every time he pulled off the perfect crime. There was never any evidence left behind, not even a single strand of hair was found at the scene. There were never any witnesses that caught him entering the crime scene, killing at the crime scene, or even fleeing the crime scene. There weren't even any leads. No one knew who this guy was.

She handed out the files to her two top detectives and they looked inside. 

The victim was 49-year-old Thomas Rigby. The 5’10”, brown-haired man was the epitome of Shawn’s idea of the average man, but something about this average man was eerily recognizable.

“Why do I know him?” He whispered to Juliet, standing beside him also looking through the case file.

“Well, Shawn,” she answered, raising her eyebrows and nodding to the file. “If you read past the first page, you would know that he is the convicted felon that was allegedly responsible for the Erickson Bank Robberies a year ago.”

“Didn’t he go away for a year because we couldn’t get him on anything except trespassing on private property?”

“You would be correct, Mr. Spencer,” Chief Vick piped up, being able to hear their entire conversation. “He was allegedly involved with all four of the robberies, but we could never get any substantial evidence to pin him at the crimes.”

“And, now, he’s dead because of it,” Shawn noted, earning a nod and a hum from the chief.

Flipping the pages to the crime scene photos, Shawn frowned at how immaculate the scene was. He loved the nitty, gritty crime scenes. Sure, they were messy to clean and tedious to deal with, but they were packed with clues and observations.

Impeccably clean crime scenes provided him with no intuition whatsoever and that’s why the Lone Ranger had made it this far.

He looked closer at the body of Thomas Rigby lying limp next to an empty chair in the middle of an empty warehouse. 

According to the coroner’s report, the M.O. was consistent. A single, precise gunshot to the knee, obviously to incapacitate the victim and prevent him from running away. Bruises on the wrists and ankles from being tied up with some type of rope, the perp being careful enough to clean the area of any fibers. 

However, as always with this killer, what killed the victim was not bleeding out from the gunshot wound in the knee. It was another gunshot wound to the base of the neck, executionary-style. 

Guessing from the position he was lying, the Lone Ranger must have strapped him to the chair and then, once he was dead, he freed him of his bonds and took the rope and any other identifying evidence like— you know, a murder weapon or a fingerprint.

Suddenly, he saw something small, yet something groundbreaking.

“Well, looky here,” Shawn said, showing the Chief and Juliet the crime scene picture of Rigby laying there and pointing to a small bruise on his cheek and a cut there. “Looks like our buddy here messed up.”

“How?” Juliet asked, peering closer at her own copy.

“Before this victim, the Lone Ranger was distant, apathetic to his victims, right?”

“That’s correct,” the chief confirmed, a wary look on her face.

Shawn smiled to himself and he placed the file down on the chief’s desk for her to examine closer. “Then tell me why this guy has a cut on his right cheek, the beginning signs of a bruise forming, and strangulation marks around his neck.”

“That’s not his M.O.” His partner caught on and her face lit up in realization. “This one was personal!”

The head detective high-fived her and pointed back to the chief. “I guarantee you that this guy...”

“Thomas Rigby—” Juliet filled in, knowing Shawn had forgotten his name by this point.

“Yes, Thomas Rugby— knew our killer or vice versa— something like that… I’m actually not too sure which one at this point.”

The chief inspected the photo and the coroner’s report, matching the observation made by her head detective, and smiled. “Good, now, get to the crime scene and see if there’s anything else they missed. Good work, detectives. You are dismissed. Actually, Shawn, one moment please.”

Juliet left the office, while the chief and the head detective watched her exit. Then she turned to him. “Do I need to be concerned that you won’t fly off the handle this time?”

Shawn cleared his throat and forced out a laugh. “Chief, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I handled things perfectly!”

“Do I need to remind you that you nearly cost four officers their lives because of your little stunt?”

“No, ma’am,” he said deflated, sinking back down into his chair. 

The last time the Lone Ranger rolled into town was not as pretty and clean as this time. The perp only managed to get away because Shawn saw his shadow in the corner of the building and ran after him with no bulletproof vest. 

Needless to say, he ended up in the hospital with a gunshot wound to his chest. The doctors told him he was lucky because, if the bullet lodged into his chest merely four centimeters to the left, he would be a dead man.

But, Shawn knew deep, deep down that the shot was on purpose. He studied the Lone Ranger’s behavior and cases for three years at that point. Every bullet that the Lone Ranger expended was calculated and precise, hitting the victim exactly where he wanted to every time. Shawn knew that the killer didn’t miss and, the one time he shot him, the Lone Ranger missed.

The Lone Ranger wanted Shawn alive and he didn’t know why.

“Look, I know this case is personal to you, but you need to keep a level head.” Shawn was so stuck in his thoughts that he didn’t realize that Vick had sat down while she was speaking to him. She folded her hands on her desk and said sincerely, “You’re our best shot at stopping him. We can’t have you putting your life at risk.”

“I understand, Chief, but you gotta know that’s how I work. In the field, getting my hands dirty, following my instincts. I wouldn’t be here without it,” Shawn explained, standing up and heading to the door. 

Chief Vick huffed out a laugh and smiled. “Oh, I know. Just be careful.”

“I will,” the detective said, before exiting the office and grabbing his leather jacket and helmet off the rack next to his desk.

Juliet walked over to him with her own suit jacket folded over her arm. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I don’t know,” Shawn said frankly, walking towards the front door. 

“Okay,” the junior detective nodded and followed him. “Do you wanna go to the crime scene—”

The head detective stopped and shook his head, his fingers tapping the plastic of his helmet. “Look, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I need to think. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll start then.”

She nodded and backed off, knowing he was stubborn, especially when he got into this state. The junior detective remembered roughly a year ago to the day when she would stay by his side every day while he recovered. She watched his unmoving form rise and fall over and over again for hours, terrified that he would never wake up.

And Juliet was never more relieved than when he did.

“Alright, Shawn,” she said, patting his shoulder. “Call me if you need anything.”

The head detective nodded and walked out of the precinct, putting on the helmet as he descended the stairs and crossed to his motorcycle. His police-sanctioned car was in the shop for accidentally running over the perp while chasing him down, leading him to not only hit him but ram his car into a nearby light pole. 

Shawn mounted the bike and revved the engine, the sweet purr of the engine like music to his ears. The gentle rumble calmed him, grounded him even in the most turbulent of times. 

However, he couldn’t go anywhere, his indecisive nature taking over him. 

He could venture over to his dad’s and talk through the case and whatever anxieties were associated, but he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.

Shawn could go to Tom Blair’s for a drink, but he knew that getting drunk wasn’t something he needed at the moment to clear his head. In fact, that would probably make him feel worse.

The detective could also beat down Gus’s door and force him to hang out with him and buy him food, but he didn’t really want the company and he knew Gus was busy finishing up his route for the day.

Finally, he settled on driving over to the pier, getting a hot dog, and watching the sunset. Despite all of the places he traveled to, the sight of the Sun setting over the Pacific Ocean eased him and cleared his mind. He also took his time, going the speed limit and avoiding passing cars as best he could. Shawn might have been an officer of the law, but he couldn’t help that some of the rich, old geezers of Santa Barbara drove like they were driving to the premiere of the infamous Howard the Duck movie.

After parking in a spot relatively close to the pier, Shawn found his favorite hot dog stand and got his usual two hot dogs with every single topping the guy had in his cart on top. It was a mess and an abomination, but delicious as fuck.

He sat down and sighed. This was what he needed. Just him, the Sun, and two delicious hot dogs.


	2. Petition to Give Gus Some Cocoa Puffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the body of Thomas Rigby in their hands and the Lone Ranger still on the loose, Shawn devises a plan to catch him. Once Jules and the Chief are on board, the head detective has everything he needs, right?
> 
> Wrong. He needs an outfit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: talk of violence against the LGBTQ+ community and violence in general, mentions of guns and gunshots, and mentions of blood

Shawn walked into the station the next day with a spring in his step. Which wasn’t necessarily unusual. On a normal day, he would have a slight bounce to his step, but nothing anywhere near a spring, especially on a Monday.

The alone time by the water really cleared his head and, for the first time in a long time, Shawn had an explicit, step-by-step plan, including every step of the plan to catch the Lone Ranger.

“Whoa, Shawn!” Buzz called out, a large smile on his face when he saw the detective happy, considering the day before he was anything but that. “Glad to see you’re feeling better!”

He just clasped the officer’s shoulder that stood at the same level as he did and patted it enthusiastically. “Me too, Buzz. Me too.”

Shawn then walked over to Juliet’s desk, seeing his junior detective already researching everybody even remotely connected to Rigby for a connection. 

He remembered back to a time that the sight of her eagerly working would have made him feel something romantic, but, now, after getting to know Juliet a bit more, he could never tarnish what they had with romance. Shawn always knew he would protect her with his life, but well— not in that way. Besides, she could get a guy a million times better than he was. She could probably pull Matthew McConaughey or Brad Pitt if she wanted to.

Noticing his presence radiating with the vibrant energy of a puppy beside her, Juliet looked up and frowned. “You look different. What exactly happened last night? Did you… you know…”

“No, no. Oh, God no,” Shawn insisted, shaking his head and exaggerating with a point. “Something even better.”

“Something better than—” 

“Just stop that. Get your mind out of the gutter, Jules. I expected more out of you,” the detective chided with no actual heat behind it, sitting down in the chair next to her.

Juliet raised her eyebrows and looked him up and down judgingly, saying, “Well, you are wearing the uniform that we are supposed to wear every day. Something must’ve happened.”

“And you’re right. Something did.” He took the case file out in front of her, holding up the picture and tapping it excitedly. “I have a plan!”

“You have a plan?”

“Yep!”

“Like an… actual plan? Not some idea that drew up on the tablecloth of a Macaroni Grill?”

“That was one time, Jules, and you can’t lie. That plan worked.”

The junior detective raised her hands in defeat. “Yes, it did. So, what are you thinking?”

“Wait for it!” Shawn sang, while holding the note for a drumroll and then ending with a dramatic wave of his hand. “We need to draw him out.”

“‘Draw him out?’ Like a sting?” Juliet shook her head violently, taking the case file back from him. “Shawn, his type is all across the board, gender-wise, race-wise, even age-wise. His type is vengeance to whoever wronged him. There is no way we can draw him out.”

“Exactly.” the head detective sprang up and peered over her shoulder to look at the file again. “Go back to the crime scene pictures.”

She gave him a wary look and then reluctantly turned back to the crime scene photos, flipping through them until Shawn stabbed his finger at the close-up of Thomas Rigby laying on the ground. 

“Look at his hand. What do you see?” 

“I don’t know.” Juliet looked closer, narrowing her eyes in a sad attempt to see something that Shawn did. “Some smudges? Mud maybe?”

“Right, smudges. And what precisely is that smudge?”

The junior detective sighed heavily and looked up at her superior. “Look, we don’t have all days for games, Shawn—”

“Okay, fine, I was just tryna lighten up the mood.” Shawn grabbed the notepad on her desk and drew a symbol, lining it up next to the photo. “It’s a stamp for a nightclub.”

“A nightclub? Like are we talking the Wildcat—”

The head detective laughed quietly and shook his head. “Oh, trust me, Jules. I would buy you a Dave and Buster’s if you knew about this one.”

“A gay bar? That’s where Lone Ranger found Rigby last night?” Chief Vick asked incredulously, placing the case file back on her desk. “Mr. Spencer, that sounds—”

“Genius? Please, you don’t have to flatter me.” Stopping his pacing around the room, Shawn raised a hand. “What we thought was a smudge on the back of his hand was, in fact, a stamp. I ran it by Woody myself and he told me two things: that the new Adam Sandler movie is worth watching and that the smudge wasn’t dirt, mud, soot, or anything black or a deep, deep brown. It was blue ink.”

Vick looked down at the picture again and mulled over the thought. “Okay, excellent work, Detective. How do you advise we proceed?”

“We go...” the detective pointed down at the floor. “Undercover.”

“At a gay bar? You want me to use police resources to send you to a gay bar?”

“Chief, if I may,” Juliet piped up, sitting at the edge of her seat. “Shawn does have a point. Rigby might have just been a coincidence. Lone Ranger might be there again tonight to track his actual target.”

Chief Vick raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, interested in what she had to say. “And how do you know that?”

She glanced over at her partner who gave her a definitely discreet thumbs up as encouragement. “I was looking over Rigby’s record again and… he had multiple aggravated assault charges for attacking gay men. Every file even indicates the same routine. He stayed in the bar for hours, seduced them into leaving, and either assaulted them in an alleyway or in their own homes, leaving them barely alive at the scene.”

Silence emerged as the chief processed the information again. “What makes you think he’ll be there tonight? It sounds like Rigby matches the other victims.”

“Sure,” Shawn said, cutting in by sitting down in the other chair. “But, if he was anything like the rest of the victims, there would be no bruising or cuts on his cheek at all. He would have been shot, tied up, and then shot again in that order, but something caused Lone Ranger to snap. And, whatever it was, it ended with Rigby punched in the face and dead not too long after.”

“Wait. What are you implying?” Juliet asked, throwing a confused look at her partner. “He’s gay?”

“Well, maybe. You can never assume nowadays, Jules,” Shawn chided her, while he was thinking and then stopped to shrug. “That would be one heck of a way to spread the homosexual agenda… with an ironfist.”

Chief Vick gave him a wary look and chose to ignore the last part that he said to continue the conversation by saying, “Anyway, what you’re saying is that he’s in some sort of way affiliated with the gay community and that’s why he killed Rigby?”

“That would be correct, Chief,” the head detective answered, then dropping his voice to clearly indicate to her that he’s being serious. “Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t think he’s done yet. From Rigby’s credit card records and my near perfect gut instincts, he doesn’t go to the same bar twice. He was just doing hate crimes at the wrong place and the wrong time.”

For the third and final time, the chief looked back down at the crime scene photo initially presented to her and sighed. “Fine, you can have your undercover operation, but no fooling around. We are not having another Disco Ball Incident of 2004 on our hands. You are dismissed.”

“That sounds great,” Shawn said, sharing a satisfied smile with Juliet, before turning back to the chief. “One more question: is tomfoolery still on the table?”

With a fond glare, Vick pointed to the double doors. “Out. Now. Do I need to remind you that you have to go undercover tonight?”

The head detective sprang out of his seat and rushed out the doors excitedly, jumping up and down when he got to his desk. “Jules, we did it.”

She couldn’t help but smile at his glee and placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from hurting himself or someone around him from the jumping, saying, “Yes, yes, we did, but we need to get the details worked out.”

“So, what I’m thinking is that I show up wearing—”

“You show up?” The junior detective scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You are not going undercover.”

“Uh, yeah, I am,” Shawn retorted, furrowing his brow. “We can’t send Buzz or Dobson in ‘cuz they’re like the straightest people we know. And, no offense, Jules, but a woman kind of sticks out at a gay bar.”

“So, that leaves you?”

“Good, you finally caught my drift.” The head detective tapped her elbow as he passed by her with his helmet and jacket. “Now, if you excuse me, I have to get ready to go clubbing.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Juliet asked, stopping the head detective in his tracks.

He smiled widely in response. “I knew you would volunteer to do the paperwork.”

Before she could rebuke his claim and drag him back there to help out, Shawn was already out the door with the sound of the motorcycle engine fading away not too far behind.

Ten minutes later, Shawn pulled up to his apartment with a worried Gus standing at the front door. At the sound of the motorcycle approaching, his best friend looked up from his phone and rushed over toward him.

“Oh, my goodness, Shawn,” he called out. “Thank god you’re alright. Where’s the bobcat that ate all of the Cocoa Puffs?”

The detective smiled to himself and shook his head. “I hate to tell you, buddy, but there is no bobcat that ate all of the Cocoa Puffs. All of the Cocoa Puffs are perfectly intact in their box on the shelf.”

Gus’s face fell and he angrily stuffed his phone in his pocket. “Then why the hell did you drag me from my route? You know that I took on an extra to pay for our trip to Colorado next weekend.”

“I am here to inform you that you do not need to take the route. As of an hour ago, we have a new lead in the Lone Ranger case.”

The pharmaceutical salesman raised an eyebrow curiously. “You mean _the_ Lone Ranger case?”

“Yep.”

“Like _the_ Lone Ranger case that got you shot last year?”

“Yep.”

"The same Lone Ranger case as _the_ one that went cold for the past year until apparently right now?"

"Yep."

“Oh hell no,” Gus said immediately, shaking his head. “I am not getting tied up in this one.”

“Gus, I understand if you are worried about my safety—”

“I am not worried about you,” his best friend responded through gritted teeth. “If that monster finds out that I even know you, he’s gonna hunt me down and kill me in my sleep.”

“Stop being melon-dramatic—”

“You know it’s melodramatic, Shawn.”

“Eh, I’ve heard it both ways,” the detective said, dismissing him with a wave of his hand as he walked into his apartment. “But, I have exciting news, news that will strike every nerve in your well-built, crime-fighting body.”

Gus rolled his eyes and sighed, following him reluctantly, but he couldn’t help that he was interested. “What do you need me to do?”

“Well, my American Idris Elba, I’m going undercover and I need your fashion sense.”

“It’s about damn time. What’s the occasion? Fancy dinner party? A wedding that you get to crash in order to dramatically accuse the groom?”

“No. As much as I wish it was the last one, I need it to go to a gay bar.” Gus raised an eyebrow and stopped. He continued to watch Shawn rifle through his clothes, searching for the perfect color-coordinated outfit. When he heard no response, his best friend looked back at him with a furrowed brow. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ve been waiting for, like, forever to style me and force me to wear something that wasn’t bought at Goodwill. So…buddy, what do you say?”

The pharmaceutical salesman’s frown deepened for a moment and he then shrugged, relenting to his best friend’s childish antics. He walked over and clapped him on the shoulder. The undeniable stench that came from Shawn caused his nose to wrinkle, asking him disgustedly as he retracted his hand and wiped it on his pants, “How long has it been since you showered?” 

Shawn looked at him in horror with a dramatic gasp. “I showered yesterday!”

“Mmhm,” he responded, looking him up and down. “You reek of Axe. You only use Axe when you reach the four-day mark and— if I know you well and I do— then you’ve definitely haven’t showered in four days.”

“But, Gus—”

“No buts, Shawn! If you’re going to this club to try to pick up the Lone Ranger like I suspect you are, I doubt a man of his stature will go for someone that smells of Axe and a day-old Subway sandwich.”

Shawn gasped at him, placing a hand on his chest. “You know I was saving that for lunch tomorrow!”

“Just go shower while I see what I can work with,” his best friend replied sternly, before he turned away and headed over to the long conveyor belt that held his clothes.

With the conversation ended abruptly, Shawn had no choice but leave him to his devices and enter the bathroom. He closed and locked the door. Turning on the shower, he stripped as he let the water heat up. Then he stopped and raised his arm, sniffing. The stench that emitted from the area made him recoil and turn away to escape the smell. 

“The Super Sniffer strikes again,” the detective mumbled to himself, before entering the shower. 

When he was finished, Shawn wrapped the towel around his waist. Then he made the mistake of looking in the mirror. His eyes immediately landed on the scar on his left pec. Tracing the long, raised line that ran from the top of his clavicle to just above his nipple reminded him of his last encounter with the Lone Ranger every time he looked at it. 

_Head Detective Shawn Spencer was sitting at the pier when the police radio went off, reporting a disturbance in a warehouse down the street over the radio. He responded almost immediately and requested for backup, while rushing over to his bike and dashing to the scene._

_On any other day, he would have the comfort of knowing that Jules would be his backup, but, much to his dismay, his partner took the day off because she caught the flu. Little did he know that would be one of many fatal flaws._

_When he arrived at the scene, he was met with two black and whites, two officers in each._

_“Cruz, Waters, head around the side. I’ll take Bates and Pond with—” Shawn started to command when they heard a loud thud come from the inside._

_The head detective abandoned all inhibition and ran inside. The four officers looked at each other in surprise, wondering how they should proceed, when they decided to follow him inside the warehouse._

_Entering the warehouse, gun drawn, Shawn found the body of Jason Neal lying on the ground, still, too still. He rushed over and checked his pulse. He couldn’t help but grimace. They were too late._

_Then the shadow of a dark figure flashed across the back of the room._

_He saw the four officers approach him and started to run after the figure, yelling back at them, saying, “I got this! Secure the scene!”_

_They would later find out that that command would nearly kill him._

_Shawn weaved between the various shelves and boxes, holding his gun neatly by his side, focused on catching the shadow that danced his way through the clutter. His heart was racing. This was the moment he was waiting for two years. “The Lone Ranger,” as the media called him, wreaked havoc on the city for too long and he was going to do something about it._

_But, the moment was more than just that._

_He needed this. He craved this._

_Shawn, desperate to prove himself as a head detective to his fellow officers, to his father, to himself, wanted this so, so bad._

_Somewhere across the warehouse, he heard the sound of gunshots echoing around the large space. Shawn stopped, frozen for just a moment, before he ran toward the noise._

_One by one, the firing started to die down until it was silent._

_As much as he hated it in the first place, the silence permeated the warehouse like a void, sucking in any hope of arresting the son of a bitch and leaving the atmosphere heavy with fear and uncertainty._

_Shawn’s heart dropped when he found Cruz and Pond crumpled to the ground around the dead body, Bates to the left in the corner leaning against a shelf, and Waters propping the door open with his open, barely even making it into the building when the fight went down._

_The head detective crouched down, kneeling next to the bodies of Cruz and Pond out of shock._

_All the breath caught into his throat. He couldn’t breath. Four officers were dead because of him. What did he do? He should have waited for more backup. He shouldn’t have ran after the Lone Ranger all by himself and left them all alone, defenseless. His own need for praise and adoration got the best of him and he—_

_Shawn stopped when he noticed that what he believed was Pond’s lifeless form was moving, the chest rising and falling subtly. He quickly checked the officer’s pulse and saw the newly-formed, red gash on his forehead from seemingly the hilt of a gun. He turned to see the same injuries on the rest of the officers._

_The detective frowned, his mind scrambling to decipher the reason why he didn’t kill any of the officers when he had the chance. The man clearly had the physical capabilities of taking down four armed officers without the need of his weapon and no injuries himself. That was something they never thought of prior to this moment: the fact that the Lone Ranger must be highly trained, skilled, and determined to make it this far._

_Then the bright red and blue lights of more approaching black and whites flooded the warehouse, illuminating the space around them. Shawn looked up at the windows overlooking the building, the very ones that saturated floors and bodies with light for the first time._

_That was when he noticed the same figure standing in the shadows, gun drawn toward him._

_“We’ve got you cornered, man!” Shawn yelled out to him, standing quickly in response and pointing his own gun toward the man. “You’re not going anywhere!”_

_In the flashing lights, he could make out what looked like a smug smirk. Then he said those fate-filled words, “We’ll see about that, Detective.”_

_The Lone Ranger took a step toward him, basking himself in the light._

_Even though Shawn couldn’t see any distinguishing features from the distance, the man was tall, the small fraction of colored light revealing what looked like modified body armor over a long sleeve shirt and form-fitting black pants with a black backpack. But what really caught the detective’s attention was the shiny holster loaded with another gun, in addition to the one aimed at him, strapped to his chest._

_He looked like the Terminator if he was human… and lanky._

_Clenching his jaw, the head detective adjusted his grip to stop his hands from shaking from either excitement, anticipation, or dread. The sound of footsteps outside of the building eased his conscience, even if it was just a little bit. “Stay back, Lone Ranger! We can talk through your issues and share a California Roll down at the station.”_

_“But, that’s the thing, Detective.” The safety on the gun clicked off, sending a chill down Shawn’s spine that begged him to flee at that moment. “That’s not how I roll.”_

_A singular gunshot rang and Shawn’s shoulder exploded in pain. It felt like his body was being ripped open, each tissue screaming from being torn apart. He fell to the ground. The cold concrete was a relief, not for the searing pain in his shoulder, but the tangible proof that he was not dead already._

_As the detective writhed in pain on the ground, the sound of footsteps approached him and stopped. The dark man was standing above him, an indiscernible expression on his newly-illuminated face._

_He tried memorizing the hooked nose, the strong hairline, and the prominent jaw, but his body and mind was shutting down rapidly._

_The last and only thing Shawn remembered about the face of the Lone Ranger was those electric, sky blue eyes boring into his soul as he faded out of consciousness._

The detective was pulled from his thoughts when a hard knock rapped against the door.

“Shawn! You good in there?” Gus called out afterward. 

“Yeah, buddy!” He cleared his throat and looked away from his scar, moving to turn on the water of the sink to cover up the fact he was reminiscing. “Just give me a minute!”

“Alright, but it’s almost time for a midafternoon snack. If you don’t hurry up, we’re gonna miss it!”

“Yeah, yeah, be there in a minute,” he mumbled more to himself than to his best friend on the other side of the door. 

Once he was sure Gus was gone, Shawn took another breath as his eyes made contact with the long scar again. When he felt his throat tighten, he looked away and pulled out a pair of underwear he found in the drawers of his bathroom, thanking drunk him for reorganizing everything a few nights prior.

Underwear donned and towel left to dry on the rack, the detective left the bathroom and found Gus raiding his pantry in the search for his midafternoon snack. Hearing him walking in, the pharmaceutical salesman looked over and then, once he completely looked away, pointed to the clothes laid on his bed. 

“Jesus, Shawn, clothes are on the bed. Put ‘em on,” Gus said, hiding his line of side with the cabinet door.

“Fine, fine, I’m going. It’s not like we’ve seen each other naked before.” 

“Uh, that was when we were three. Doesn’t count.”

“Still counts,” Shawn corrected quietly. He smiled to himself at his best friend’s antics and shook his head, examining what Gus chose for him.

From first glance, his best friend certainly made some good choices. He saw in front of him a dark blue button-up paired with a pair of black dress pants that he didn’t even know he owned. Then, instead of his usual pair of Nike’s, a pair of nice dress shoes that, again, he didn’t even know he owned. 

It was quite an ensemble and certainly something that Gus would wear. But, it wasn’t terrible, he supposed. He tossed on the shirt, making sure to leave a few buttons undone, with the pants and shoes following after.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Shawn reluctantly tucked in the shirt when he noticed how the outfit was lacking that slight formality. He turned to the side and raised his eyebrows. He shockingly looked… kind of good. The combination of Gus’s style with touches of his own was a look that should definitely win over the Lone Ranger if he’s associated with the gay community in any way.

Gus brought over some cereal to him because that was one of the only things he could find in his cupboard and also looked at Shawn through the mirror.

“I did a good job,” he said with a smug raise of his eyebrow.

“Yes, you did, my black Georgio Armani. Yes, you did.”

With the Cocoa Puffs in his hand and then his mouth, he was ready for whatever the Lone Ranger was going to throw at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter of _Reporting for Duty_!
> 
> I'll see you in the next chapter: Who Orders a Scotch at a Club?


	3. Who Orders a Scotch at a Club?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!
> 
> In this chapter, Shawn goes undercover and runs into none other than the Lone Ranger himself. Needless to say, he wasn't exactly who he thought the infamous criminal would be.
> 
> But, is that a bad thing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: cursing, choking (and not in the sexual sense), and alcohol.
> 
> Here's to Chapter 3! I hope you enjoy!

“Let’s go over this again,” Juliet stated sternly with her arms crossed over her chest. “What do you do if you get in contact with him?”

Spinning in the technician’s chair in the surveillance van, Shawn shrugged. “Say hi back—”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Hey! Not saying hi back is very impolite, Jules.”

When Shawn did not listen to his partner, she grabbed the handle of the chair and stopped it in its tracks. “Shawn, stop. You are putting your life on the line here!”

“Please—”

“I’m being serious!”

“Me too!” The head detective shouted, the raise in volume throwing Juliet off her lecture. “If he wanted me dead, he would have killed me the first time.”

“But he knows what you look like—”

“You think I haven’t thought of that?” He let out a laugh and moved over to the shelf to hook on his wire, explaining to her by saying, “I want him to know I’m there. I want him to know that I’m after him and I’m close to putting him behind bars.”

Juliet took a deep breath and looked away, folding her hands in front of her. “I know. It’s just last time—”

“Last time won’t happen again.” Shawn huffed and tossed down the wire in frustration when the tape wouldn’t stick to his chest. “Damn it.”

“Need help?” She asked quietly, gesturing to the wire with her hand. 

He answered with a small wave and leaned against the counter as she approached. She took the tape and the wire, pressing strips of the cold tape against the skin. Even though his mind should have been fixated on the dainty hands securing the mic to his chest, the detective’s mind wandered to the mission he had ahead of him. 

Getting in would be easy enough. Shawn considered himself to be attractive and his shirt was unbuttoned nearly to his naval and going to stay that way. Even though he wondered how he knew that information, Gus assured him that it would attract him plenty of attention in the right way and he would blend in perfectly. 

His only problem was that he didn’t know what the Lone Ranger looked like. His memory of the last moments before he passed out was hazy, clouded by the blood loss and the overwhelming stress of the situation. Even after two therapy sessions and a year of racking his brain for an image, nothing came of it. Shawn knew for sure that he was wearing all black, had a backpack, two guns, and had—

_Those electric, ocean blue eyes._

Those eyes haunted his dreams— nightmares. They were definitely nightmares. The only way it would be a dream was definitely if he was catching him and putting him behind bars.

With a hesitant tap to his chest to secure the last piece of tap, the wire was attached to him and ready to catch a criminal. 

“You ready?” Juliet asked him, her hand still on his chest and her wide eyes staring up at him.

Shawn frowned and nodded, stepping past her and out of the van. 

Once the door was closed and locked shut, the head detective adjusted his shirt to conceal the wire better under his shirt. Why did Gus have to choose such a tight shirt for him? The audacity.

With a final tossle of his hair, Shawn confidently strided over to the front doors, putting on his best face for the bouncer.

For a Wednesday night, the line was surprisingly long with either men who were pretending to be straight during the day, college students experimenting with their sexuality under the anonymity of a gay club, or girls going with their friends to avoid the harsh male gaze at the surrounding clubs. Shawn blended right in. 

The line was long enough to wait for ten minutes, questioning his decision to participate in this sting with every step he took. He could turn back, go back into the van, and invite Gus over to eat Pringles while watching the latest episode of the Bachelorette. But, once he cleared the bouncer and entered the doors into the dark room with only the strobe lights and the disco ball to keep him company, Shawn couldn’t turn back.

The first thing he did was head to the bar. To not look suspicious. Obviously not to get a shot in his system to a) calm his nerves and b) stop himself from running out of there. 

“One vodka soda please,” the detective yelled to the bartender over the loud, pounding music, holding up his hand, and then corrected himself. “Actually, two shots of vodka with a side of pineapple would do just fine.”

He nodded, going off to pour the shots and retrieve the acidic, citrusy goodness that was pineapple. 

Shawn leaned against the bar and stared off into the sea of men dancing or— well, grinding against each other. As much as he would have loved to join in on all the fun, the head detective had a job to do, one that meant not being inhibited by the mass of people surrounded him. He needed to see everything, be aware of his surroundings. 

He heard two glasses clink behind him and the bartender sending him a look, before walking off. 

On any other night, Shawn definitely would have tried to tap that, but, again, not the night for that. He had a wire on that would relay everything he said to the surveillance van parked inconspicuously down the street.

That’s when a voice caught his ear.

“I asked for a scotch on the rocks!” 

Shawn frowned, trying to place the voice. It was familiar, very familiar, but not so much so that he could identify it. The voice was deep with a twinge of raspiness. But, he couldn’t place it.

_“We’ll see about that, Detective.”_

The detective froze. Just like he did when he heard the Lone Ranger drop his title that night.

“But, judging by this glass, the rocks aren’t there! How hard is it to put two ice cubes in a glass?” The deep voice exclaimed so loud that even the raging techno music didn’t dampen the frustration in his voice.

_“But, that’s the thing, Detective. That’s not how I roll.”_

He knew that voice. The mere fact that he did sent shivers down his spine. After a year, that voice was back and standing not even twenty feet away from him.

That was the Lone Ranger. The Lone Ranger was standing at the end of the bar.

“You just had to say please,” Shawn overheard the bartender reply curtly when he placed his newly fixed drink in front of him. 

By the time Shawn gathered the courage to look over, the man disappeared into the crowd of people. He cursed himself and downed the two shots quickly, gulping down the burning sensation igniting his throat. That was exactly what he needed. 

He waved the bartender over for another round. When he made his way to the detective, Shawn leaned in, knowing how much his shirt exposed, and said, “What a dick.”

The bartender took the bait and leaned in as well, his eyes drifting down his chest and back up in a quick motion. “Tell me about it. That guy was in here last night and did not leave a tip after treating me like that.”

“Wow,” Shawn said absentmindedly, focusing more on the fact that he was right than anything. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am,” he said, nodding quickly. 

“Tell me. What does he look like?”

The bartender huffed and stood up, throwing his towel back over his shoulder. “Believe me, darling, you don’t want to tango with that guy. A handsome guy like you can do better than a douchebag like that.”

Shawn chuckled and nodded slowly as he walked away from him. 

“Damn it,” the detective mumbled to himself, quickly fleeing the bar, which was totally not suspicious.

Finding a different corner to get a better angle of the club, the detective pressed the device in his ear to connect him to Juliet back in the van. 

“Jules, he’s here,” Shawn said into the mic as best he could. 

“How do you know?” Her voice replied almost instantly in his ear. “Did you see him?”

“I heard him and the bartender said he was here last night. It was him. I’m sure of it.”

“Okay, be careful. Signal if you need back up.”

“Got it.” Shawn let go of the button, before he quickly pressed it again. “Oh, and Jules?”

“Yes, Shawn?”

“Tell Gus that, if something happens to me, he’s responsible for giving my Abba records to everyone based on what he thinks the color of their aura is.”

Juliet’s surprisingly deflated voice came back over the speaker after a second, saying, “I will.”

The detective smiled at his partner’s willingness to help him with whatever and moved up to the vantage point on the second story, leaning on the balcony with his forearms. 

Everything looked normal, but he knew something was going to go down.

He scanned the crowd of scantily-clad men for someone resembling the lanky man he faintly remembered, but there was no match. He even checked the sides of the club where people were talking, making out, or doing something in between.

One booth caught his attention. 

It was secluded in a corner with the perfect view of the door leading to the backroom and there was a man sitting there alone with what looked like a glass of scotch.

Shawn smiled to himself and headed straight to the booth, pressing his ear and saying, “Found ‘em, Jules.”

“Good. Do not approach, Shawn. He might be armed.”

“Well, too late for that.”

Once the booth was in sight, Shawn stopped by the trash can, looking at it, before taking off the wire and throwing it into the trash. He would grab it again later, but he needed his minute with the Lone Ranger alone.

When he reached the booth, it was empty. The man that was once there was definitely not there.

“Took you long enough,” that very voice boomed from behind him. “I was starting to think that you were getting lazy.”

Shawn turned around to see the Lone Ranger standing there in all of his glory. He was holding another scotch on the rocks, looking very unimpressed from what Shawn could piece together from the flashing lights gracing his face. 

“No, I hate to tell you, but my skills are better than ever,” the detective quipped, suddenly feeling unconscious in his nearly completely unbuttoned shirt under the criminal’s hardened gaze. 

The Lone Ranger just huffed out a laugh and moved past him, sitting back down in the empty booth. 

Now, under a brighter, warmer light, Shawn could say that he was impressed. Even though a year had passed, he looked almost exactly the same. Well, except for the longer hair that replaced the buzz cut. 

He had to admit it was a better look on him.

“Should I even ask how you found me?” The Lone Ranger asked, while he made himself comfortable. He draped a long arm around the back of the booth, while the other rested on the table and cradled the tumbler. 

Shawn took the chance to sit down on the other side, not nearly as comfortable as the other man was. “You were sloppy.”

“Oh? Was I?”

“Yeah, you left the stamp on his…” the detective trailed off, meeting those electric, ocean blue eyes for the first time. There was an arrogance, a smugness in his eyes, igniting them with the challenge of knowledge. That was when Shawn knew. “You wanted me to find you. Here, of all places.”

The criminal raised the glass to his lips, hiding the smug smirk on his lips. After taking a sip, he said, sarcasm dripping off each syllable, “Very good. You really are the detective the media chalked you up to be.”

The detective frowned and pointed at him. “Oh, yeah, Lone Ranger. I don’t see you walking around in a cowboy hat and chaps.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have them,” he responded quickly, before realizing what he said and sinking further into his seat to hide behind his tumbler. Then he raised an eyebrow in agreement, a subtle gesture to the nearly bewildered man across the table. “But, fair point.”

They fell in silence as the man sitting across from him sipped his scotch. 

Shawn took the moment to memorize his appearance to search for him later. 

Definitely 6’1” maybe 6’2”. Dark brown hair with hints of greying at the edges. Hooked nose. The black clothes he remembered were exchanged with a dark grey pullover with a black shirt underneath. 

He’ll have to get the sketch artist later to get it all down.

“So, Mr. Lone Ranger—”

“‘Mr. Lone Ranger?’ What are you… twelve?”  
“Some say I’m a kid at heart,” Shawn replied quickly, finding the way he just irritated the man across from him so intensely. Then he remembered he still had a job to do. “So, what should I call you then?”

“Please, just Carlton—”

“Carlton? Nope, I am not doing that.”

The criminal scrunched up his face in confusion. “What?”

“I am not calling you Carl… Carl… Car— nope, can’t do it.”

“But, it’s my name.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is,” Shawn said matter-of-factly, gesturing to all of him. “But, come on, man. Who would want to be named… that? I thought you would have a cool name like... Bowie. Why couldn't you have been named Bowie?”

“It’s a family name—” The Lone Ranger rolled his eyes, downing the rest of his scotch in a single gulp. “Fine, whatever, just use Lassiter.”

“Lassie.”

“No, it’s—”

“Lassie.”

He took in a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“What are you doing here then? Besides, you know— yelling at bartenders and ordering scotch like a freaking weirdo,” Shawn asked him, tapping his fingers on the table. 

Guessing on the number of songs, he had maybe five minutes before the police were going to storm in here to rescue him. 

Lassie huffed out a grim laugh and shrugged, shifting his gaze over to the crowd of people. “Can’t I just enjoy the atmosphere?”

“You enjoy a sweaty room full of hypersexual gay men, desperate straight women, and… lesbians?” 

The other man shot him a glare, before standing up calmly and smoothing down his clothes. “And you don’t?”

The question halted the snarky reply that threatened to come out in his throat and froze him right there in his spot. He stared at the spot where the man sat before and, right when he turned to look at him, there was nothing there but the flashing lights permeating from the other side of the club. 

The aforementioned hypersexual gay men, desperate straight women, and… lesbians scurried off the dance floor like cockroaches retreating into the shadows when a closet door was opened. Everyone ran for any exit available. 

Even the man who he thought he caught.

Quickly, Shawn’s eyes scanned the room until his eyes landed on a door in the back, which he presumed led to the outside. It looked like any regular door. Just suspiciously swinging closed.

The head detective should have waited, sat there in the booth while the police stormed the building. But, of course not. Shawn Spencer was never that simple.

Against his best instincts (and his orders), he headed for the door, running at full speed. He opened it and was met with the cold air of the outside. Taking a step out, the door was immediately slammed closed and his back met the cold, hard metal with a loud rattle. 

The warmth from the strong hand wrapped around his neck and pressed into his windpipe prevented him from moving away from the force. The other hand settled on the collar of his shirt, pushing back against the metal door. His hands flew to the Lone Ranger’s wrist in response and held on for dear life, looking up to see the Lone Ranger staring down at him.

“Back off,” he said, his voice low and gravelly from the hushed tone. “This is a warning.”

“A warning?” Shawn said, struggling as a terrible attempt to break free. “This is one hell of a—”

“You don’t want to get caught up in this.”

“It’s a little too late for that, buddy. Should have thought of that before you killed people.”

The taller man just chuckled grimly and shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re walking into, Spencer.

“Spence—” The detective attempted to say, before he was cut off with a cough. “You know who I am?”

The detective frowned when he watched the criminal's eyes widen in shock and then steel instantaneously. The grip tightened, forcing the other man to choke out a cough, and his face morphed into a nasty scowl. “Just stop the investigation, admit that you will never catch me, and move on to the next sorry ass who gets caught. Okay?”

Shawn nodded quickly, that reaction being the only one he was able to express at that moment. There were multiple loud bangs at the door and then the pressure on his neck was gone. The detective collapsed to the ground, coughing mercilessly into the pavement below him. 

Just then, the door flew open to reveal Juliet standing there with a gun aimed at him. Seeing it was him, she placed her gun back in her holster and sighed deeply.

The head detective turned to look up at her, his face red from— you know, being choked and managed a weak smile, saying hoarsely, “Hey, there, Jules.”

**Author's Note:**

> For your knowledge, I have no idea what the schedule for posting the chapters would be. I am horrible with time management and creative inspiration, so, for your sake and mine, I will not try to create a strict schedule.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
